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KANSAS POEMS 




BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
HARRIS, KANSAS 



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EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



PREFACE 



BY THE AUTHOR 



I have been requested to publish my poems in 
pamphlet form, and hope they will offend no one. 
Some of the poems deal with life as it is, and others 
with life as it ought to be. 

"Pocapella's Warning" is a true story. It was related 
to me by the Indian agent who warned Pocapella that 
the Blackfeet would steal his squaws and ponies if he 
would go to the mountain on a hunting expedition. 
The poem shows the truth of the old adage, "They who 
will not be counselled cannot be saved." 

"A Chinese Tale" was partly founded on fact. It 
was written to make clear the fact that an All- Wise 
Judge will never change his judgment. 

"A Southern Romance" has a useful moral for the 
white as well as^for the colored, and was not written 
as a "slam" at the colored race. The poem on "The 
Dual Life" was intended for the white more than the 
colored race. 

Edward Thomas Fay, 

Harris, Kansas. 







U'-f'^yL.^C^ 



X/ 



JAN 3 1914 



CONTENTS 



A Black Eye .... Page 41 

A Cheerful Face - - - - Page 5 

A Cheerful Liar - . - - Page 37 

A Chinese Tale - - - - Page 13 

A Fable With a Moral - - - Page 43 

An Irish Fairy Tale _ . . Page 46 

Back to Harris - - - - Page 41 

Bright Things .... Page 20 

Choose a Clean Friend ... Page 51 

Circumstance .... Page 26 

Denver . - . . . Page 54 

Don't Worry .... Page 39 

For Love of Home ... Page 9 

Had a Right To - - • - ' - Page 31 

If He Had His V/ay - - ' - Page 34 

In Redlands, California ... Page 36 

Kansas ..... Page 18 

Life ..... Page 15 

Life's March .... Page 53 

Miser and Thief - - - - Page 22 

Muskogee Red's Horoscope: A Dream - Page 48 

My Kansas Home - - - - Page 55 

Paternal Advice . - . . Page 21 

Peace _ - . . . Page 7 

Pocapella's Warning - - - Page 27 

Remembrance .... .Page 10 

Retrospective . _ . . Page 56 

Rolio and Bolio - - - - Page 16 

Shakspeare - - - - Page 53 



Spring - - - - ■ Page 29 

Spring Thoughts - - - - Page 55 

The Bridge of Elsirat — Mohamed's Belief Page 33 

The Call of Kansas - - - Page 25 

The Contest - - - - Page 40 

The Double Life - - - - Page 32 

The Master's Dream - - - Page 28 

Two Christian Soldiers - - - Page 11 

Westward Bound - - - - Page 35 

When the Leaves Come Tumbling Down Page 6 

Whiskey Did It All ... Page 8 

You are Doggone Tootin' - - - Page 30 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



A CHEERFUL FACE 



There is something in a cheerful face 
That is music and balm and song; 

That scatters sunshine wherever it goes 
As it moves through the world along. 

A cheerful face is a banquet spread; 

It is hope and joy and rest. 
Of all good things we may possess, 

A cheerful face is the best. 

Go on your way with a cheerful smile, 
And harbor no gloom within. 

This world has no use for a gloomy face; 
It's a burden that weighs like sin. 

A smile is the open sesame still, 

With magic power as of old; 
It unlocks the store of human love 

That is proof to the key of gold. 

A smile will sweeten life's bitterest cup. 

How we love our cheerful friend 
Who points the future with rosy tints, 

And has rainbow hues to lend. 

Smiles brighten the pathway of our lives; 

They give us the chord and the key 
To attune our souls to the music that 

Rings through eternity. 

[5] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



WHEN THE LEAVES COME TUMBLING DOWN 



Down in the forest solitude , 

Is where we like to go, 
When yellow leaves begin tj fall, 

When autumn breezes blow. 

For one feels sort of lonesome 

About the quiet town, 
And hies away to woodland scenes 

When the leaves come tumbling down. 

The clouds in strange processions 

Sweep across the sky; 
The forest flecked with sun and shade 

Is pleasing to the eye. 

The sunbeams chase the shadows 

O'er forest, field and town; 
Old nature plays a lively game 

When the leaves come tumbling down. 

Down in the forest solitude 

There is perfume in the air. 
One might imagine seraphim 

Had swung their censers there. 

But do not look for seraphim — 

Just keep spying round, 
And you'll see the pawpaw's censers swing 

When the leaves come tumbling down. 

If they had been forbidden fruit 

That luckless Adam ate, 
I think forgiveness would have come 

To Adam and his mate. 

[6] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



I really think Jehovah 

In anger would not frown 
If he had caught them eating pawpaws 

When the leaves come tumbling down. 

There is no fruit more tempting 
That is known to mortal man 

Than a ripe delicious pawpaw. 
Deny the fact, who can? 

He says "Old friend I'll treat you," 
When he is lying on the ground, 

And he seems to rise and meet you 

When the leaves come tumbling down. 



PEACE 



Along the crowded road of life 
How noiselessly some tread. 
They journey on, avoiding strife; 
In peace they win their bread. 

In peace life's phantom's they pursue; 
As they are doing all should do. 

The history of our warring race 
Shows that the men of peace 
Have occupied the highest place. 
Long may their kind increase. 
Their calm ideals are the best; 
In peace humanity should rest; 

[7] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Should cease from needless war and strife - 

Should rise from darkness of the past 
Into the light of higher life, 

To be a peaceful race at last — 

A race whose hands will not be red, 
But will bear the olive branch instead. 



WHISKEY DID IT ALL 



When they who loose the scourges, 
Their vials of wrath outpour. 

Than rum, the arch destroyer. 
None e^'er ruined more. 

With grim resolve, men oft have dared 
To face the cannon's Ht^«th-; ^t-iSi-oX/*^ 

To drive less evils from their homes 
They did not shrink from death. 

The woe and ruin rum has caused 

No tongue can truly tell. 
It has brought men to the scaffold 

And to the prison cell. 

And countless thousands have been slain 
And fortunes have been sunk 

By men devoid of reason 

When they were beastly drunk. 

Rum is a fell destroyer — 

Humanity's worst foe. 
It ruins hopes and ruins homes 

And lays bright prospects low. 

[8] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



There are thousands of good fellows 
Who now are on the bum 

Can lay the failure of their lives 
To nothing else but rum. 

One who committed suicide, 
This was his last sad call: 

"Go tell the boys to drink no more — 
That whiskey did it all " 



FOR LOVE OF HOME 



The greatest sacrifice of men 

Is that which soldiers give: 
That others by their noble deaths 

In happiness may live. 

The story of the world is full 

Of heroisms grand; 
Of gallant deeds performed by men 

Who loved their native land. 

What nerved the immortal three hunrTed 
With their living bodies to bar 

The Persians' march on Sparta 
In the direful Grecian war? 

What upheld the heaven-given banner 
Under which great Constantine, 

Who, with his gallant soldiers, 

Stayed the flood of Rome's decline? 

[9] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



What bore in wondrous triumph 
From the Ganges to the Tweed, 

The glittering square of crimson silk, 
With eagles, in the lead? 

What was it fired the patriots' souls 
Who fought at Bunker Hill? 

What bore our flag through many a fray 
And stands behind it still? 

It is a sentiment, my friends 

As old as is gray time, 
And broader than the surging seas - 

It rules in every clime. 

It dwells in every human heart; 

It lives in every zone. 
It is the love of native land, 

Because it holds our home. 



REMEMBRANCE 



Sometimes we meet our long-lost friends 

And talk of bygone days; 
Of old companions of our youth, 

And all about their ways; 

Of some who fell before the sweep 
Of Time's remorseless blade. 

And those who journey with us still 
Toward the realm of shade. 

We tell about the lives they led, 
The deeds that they have done; 

[10] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FA\ 



Of bright dreams that have faded 
Or victories they have won; 

How some fought l.fe's battle bravely, 

Returning blow for blow, 
While some threw down their arms and fled, 

Who feared to face the foe. 
And some of them we have to praise, 

And some of them we blame, 
Just as they led a proper life 

Or gloried in their shame. 

How like a careful mariner 

While sailing o'er life's sea. 
Some use a compass and a chart 

And far from danger flee; 

While others blindly steer their craft 

On charted rock or shoal. 
And end the voyage of their lives 

Far from the hoped-for goal. 



TWO CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS 



Iwo Christian soldiers o'er the sands 

Before the angry Arabs fly. 
They saw the steel flash in their hands; 

They heard them shout "The dogs must die!' 
Their chargers skimmed the desert sand 

Like swallows through the evening sky ; 
But swiftly rode that dark-faced band 

Of angry Arabs foJowing nigh. 



[11] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



It was a hard-contested race 
For life on that dry desert place. 

But now the palm groves rise in view. 
Soon will the Christians' camp be near. 
Will Jesus save us?" mused the two 
Who rode in hope and fear. 
But nearer flashed the gleaming steel 

And louder rose the yell: 
"We will strike them down for Allah's weal 
Those infidels of hell!" 

What power on earth could save them then 
If captured by those wrathful men? 

But lo, one Christian's horse fell dead; 

His rider tumbled on the plain. 
He was hurt— he scarce could raise his head. 

His comrade heard his cry of pain. 
He swiftly reined his charged in — 

Leaped from the saddle with a bound, 
And in an instant was with him, 

His prostate comrade, on the ground. 
"You shall not die alone," he said. 
"Their gleaming steel I do not dread." 

The Arab chieftain saw the deed. 

Such deed he had never seen before. 
He drew his rein and stayed his steed. 

And thirsted for their blood no more. 
Hear me," he said; "though wars have been 

Since time unknown till I grew old. 
No nobler deed was ever seen; 

No heart so tried, so true and bold. 
If such are sons of Christ," said he, 
"Long may they live in liberty!" 



[12] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



A CHINESE TALE 



A merry wag, on mischief bent, 

Straight to a Chinese garden went. 

He was a good ventriloquist, 

Who chance for sport had seldom missed. 

He said, "Today I'll have some fun, 
And make the wily heathen run." 

Before a washee-shop he saw 

A washee man with hungry maw, 

Who bore a salmon in his hand, 

And quick as thought the joke was planned. 

The salmon said, in haughty tone, 

"Quong Lee, to me all things are known." 

"If you eat me," the salmon said, 

"Before two hours you will be dead, 

And be reincarnated in a mule 

That the opposing tongue will rule." 

Quong Lee, with terror in his eyes, 
Gazed at the fish in dumb surprise. 

'Twas more than he could understand; 

The fish fell from his trembling hand. 
His queue rose like a paper kite. 

And soared above him in his fright, 
He staggered like a drunken man, 

Then gathered all his strength and ran. 

Into the joss house quick he sped. 
His queue still soaring o'er his head. 

All nature's laws it did disdain, 
And floated like an aeroplane. 



[13] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Safe in the joss house on the hill, 
He sought to win Budha's good will. 

The wag close followed in his wake, 
And with him did the salmon take. 

He laid the salmon on the floor, 

And hid behind the pondrous door 

While Quong Lee poured his tale of fear 
In mighty Budha's wooden ear, 
While Budha's priest was standing near. 

"Give me ten plunks," the old priest said, 
"And I will push your case ahead. 

In. Budha's court my prayers ne'er fail; 
With Budha always I prevail " 

The frightened Lee the ten plunks paid 
Unto the man in robes arrayed. 

Then Budha said, "That priest's a knave; 

His prayers can neither damn nor save. 
Great Budha's justice changes not 

And purchased prayers are useless rot. 
All things I know, I hear, I see. 

And final judgment rests with me. 

No cunning priest with all his skill 
Can change the justice of my will," 

The frightened priest stood trembling then, 
As old Wing Boo came tottering in, 

Great Budha's favor to implore, 
As he had often done before. 

Wing, in his time, was always kind 
To help the poor and sick and blind; 

And now himself was sick and poor. 
And many hardships did endure. 

[14] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



The wag the old man's need well knew, 
And Budha spoke for good Wing Boo. 

"Hi po ponya," * Budha cried; 

"Wing Boo, you are my lo^'e and pride. 
You always had a ready oar 

To help the drowning to the shore. 
Forever, with the tranquil blest, 

In Budha's heaven shall be your rest. 
Take home the fish from off this floor, 

And heaven will send you many more." 

Then to the priest Sky Bang he said, 
"See that my hungry shall be fed, 

Give a hundred plunks to old Wing Boo, 
Or I will make a mule of you." 

The frightened priest the money paid, 
And Budha's anger was allayed. 

Wing Boo then tottered home content 
That Budha's aid to him had sent. 

The cunning wag the fact well knew 
That men great Budha's work can do; 

That temples oft are dens of thieves 

Whose high priests steal by make-believes. 

Hi po ponya is "Hello, good friend," in Chinese. 



LIFE 



Life is like the game of horseshoes — 
There is something at which we aim; 

And good or bad partners we may choose 
To help us win the game; 

[15] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



And human hopes will rise and sink 

Like the horseshoes rise and fall. 
When the bitter or sweet from life's cup we drink, 

There is bitter and sweet for all. 

Horseshoes is surely a game of skill, 

But chance sometimes steps in 
And changes the game, as oft it will, 

And the poorest players win. 
Sometimes our "ringers" get knocked out, 

When we feel dead sure they will stay; 
In all, the affairs of life, no doubt, 

Chance acts in the selfsame way. 

Events sometimes rush out of the dark 

That shape the fates of men; 
We may aim with care and miss life's mark 

Or a random shot may win. 
Some are "leaners" in the game of life. 

And some are "skunked" outright. 
Perhaps the "failers" are not to blame 

If we but judged them right. 



ROLIO AND BOLIO 



Like drift wood on the sea of life 
They drifted to our shore. 

They drifted outward with the tide; 
We will see them never more. 

They came from Kansas City, 
Beside the brown Missou, 

[16] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



And abode awhile in Harris, 

Where they found some work to do. 

They drifted into town one day- 
Unheralded they came— 

And to make a stake for winter time 
They played the shovel game. 

Their iron shovels glistened 

In the moon's pale light, 
Where the iron horses slumbered 

On their iron beds at night. 

Said Rolio to Bolio, 

"This work is far too hard." 
Said Bolio to Rolio, 

"It's right you are, old pard." 

Said Rolio to Bolio, "This town 

Is far too dry," 
Said Bolio to Rolio, 

"For the wet realms I sigh." 

Said Rolio to Bolio, 

"This town is far too small." 
Said Bolio to Rolio, 

"There is no free lunch at all." 

Said Rolio to Bolio, 

"I spurn their proffered gold. 
I know of better business. 

Where it's not so horrid cold." 

"And furthmore," said Rolio, 

"I know a thing. or two: 
It's me for Kansas City, 

In the kingdom of Missou." 

[17] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Said Rolio to Bolio, 

"Alas, old pard, good-bye; 

And should we never meet on earth, 
I'll meet you in the sky." 

Said Bolio to Rolio, 

"No future life I fear. 
Old Nick could not inflict a worse 

Thau I've experienced here. 

"And should we meet on earth again. 

Old Solomon we'll heed. 
We'll eat, drink and be merry, 

And smoke the Indian weed." 

Said Rolio to Bolio, 

"I'm going up the grade, 
An if we never meet again, 

This parting was well made." 



KANSAS 



Kansas, our home land, 

How strange is thy story 
Like Minerva, full-armed, 

Into being you sprung. 
Thy valor and justice 

Have crowned Thee with glory, 
And a halo of splendor 

Around Thee has hung. 



[18] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



The sword and the balance 

Were left to thy keeping; 
The spirit of justice 

Awoke at thy call, 
And millions arose 

From their bondage and v/eeping 
To swell the glad anthem: 

There is freedom for all. 

Kansas — our Kansas — 

Thou leadest the nation; 
Thy wisdom endureth, 

Thy justice enthralls 
Adversaries drank of thy pure inspiration 

Till they offered the tribute 
Of love in thy halls. 

O what a bright, laughing 

Fountain of treasure 
Flows from thy bounteous soil. 

Year after year, 
Bountiful giver of wealth beyond measure, 

Yet 'tis for thy virtues 
We hold thee most dear. 

In thy romance, lo^'^e, valor 

And duty are blended; 
Tragedy darkened 

The hour of thy dawn. 
They recked not of danger, 

The sons who defended; 
They shall live in thy story 

While time journeys on. 

[19] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



No more the plumed Sioux 

Rushes fiercely to plunder; 
His bow has been broken, 

His valor was vain; 
And the bison, whose hoof-beats 

Re-echoed like thunder. 
Have passed like a dream 

From the green, sunny plain. 

The white man has come 

With his burden and scheming, 
With restless ambition 

That scorns every chain. 
He has found sunny Kansas, 

The land of his dreaming, 
An Eden with verdure 

And sunshine and rain. 



BRIGHT THINGS 



The brightest thing that nature made 
From heaven and earth will soonest fade. 
The rainbow made of seven-hued light. 
The dew drop like a jewel bright. 
The lightning's flash, the meteors' gleam 
Will vanish like our sweetes dream. 
There are bright things that never die — 
Fond memories of the days gone by. 
The love that was so pure and true, 
Bright as the rainbow's glorious hue; 

[20] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



The memories of deeds well done 
G^ow with the splendor of the sun, 
Nor time nor evil's power can doom 
Bright joys that in the soul found room. 
A life well spent, year after year, 
Has joys that never disappear. 
Where honor, peace and virtue dwell 
Ail things are bright and ail is weil. 



PATERNAL ADVICE 



I have advice to give you, son, 

Before I sail away, 
But where my bark will anchor 
. Is more than I can say. 
I've heard there is a goodly port 

Upon the other side, 
And hope that into it, some day, 

My bark will safely glide. 

I've trod the path of rectitude; 

I want you to do the same; 
And never be a crooked man, 

Who plays a crooked game. 
And never let your mind become 

A dark, forbidding den. 
Where evil thoughts, like serpents. 

Will coil their folds therein. 

Beware of evil habits, 

And never give them reigns; 

[21] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Though weak as cobwebs they begin, 
Th2y will bind you soon like chains. 

You may struggle like a victim 
Crushed in a python's fold; 

As small your chances to escape 
From habits strong and old. 

The way of evil doers 

Is a way of grief and shame; 
Beset by slings and arrows, 

Their life is a worthless game. 
Their evil deeds pursue them 

With swift, untiring tread. 
And sit upon their coffin lids 

At last, when they are dead. 

He may be the village villain 

Or wear a crown of gold. 
And slay a hundred thousand men. 

Like conquerers of old. 
The hopes they base on evil deeds 

Will vanish into naught; 
False, luring hopes, like mirage lakes, 

That thirsty travelers sought. 



MISER AND THIEF 



A long time ago, 

In the years that have flown, 
There was a rich miser 

Who lived all alone. 

[22] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



He toiled all the day 

And he scarce slept by night, 
And to add to his store 

Was his only delight. 

There was also a robber — 

A wily old knave — 
Who lived all in solitude 

Safe in a cave. 
This robber was treacherous, 

Vicious and bold, 
And schemed how to steat 

The rich miser's red gold. 

He dressed himself up 

In the garments he stole 
From a pious old monk, 

And assumed the monk's role. 
Then he sought the old mise r. 

With tears in his eyes, 
And told him a batch 

Of tremendous lies. 

"Thank heaven!" said the old thief, 

"I've come here to you 
To pray for your soul 

And tell what you must do. 
You must gi^'^e of the gold 

You have horded away 
To the halt and the lame 

And the blind while you may: 

"For if you do not. 

You will go down below. 
Where the, fires tormenting 



[23] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Are always aglow; 
Where the devils are torturing 

Old misers' souls 
And heaping around them 

The red, flaming coals; 

Where, forever and ever, 

Their spirit will burn. 
In the reigon from whence 

There is no hope of return. 
This miser all beggars 

Did hate and despise, 
And he planted his fist 

Right betwixt his two eyes. 

The miser was tough. 

And the thief he was strong. 
They battled like wild cats — 

The fight lasted long; 
And when it was ended. 

Both of them lay dead. 
And they needed not money. 

But coffins, instead. 

A wandering tramp found them 

Steeped in their gore. 
He took all their money. 

And wished they had more. 
And the earth circled on 

Round the sun as before. 



[24] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



THE CALL OF KANSAS 



I have climbed California's mountains, 

And, from their summits high, 
Gazed at the distant mountain peaks, 

And where the lowlands lie. 

I have gazed ('own upon the valleys 

On many a pleasing scene, 
Where the lime and lemon groweth 

And the groves are always green. 

I have watched the ocean billows 
Break v/ith thunder on the shore, 

And caught the inspiration 
Oi the music in their roar; 

But the old familiar Kansas scenes 

Still held more charms for me 
Than the mountains' massive grandeur 

Or the thunder oi the sea. 

The beauties of the fairest scene 

The heart will coldly spurn. 
And like the homing pigeon, 
■ To the old scenes ever turn. 

And the old familiar voices 

Will ever call away 
From where the green-robed mountains rise 

Or where the billows play 

Where the old familiar faces are 
That give to lite a zest, 

[25] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



There the dream of Jife is sweetest 
And life is at its best 



CIRCUMSTANCE 



My name is Circumstance, and I 

Still hold the reins on you. 
In boundless space I work, I fly, 
I have so much to do. 

This busy world, in all its zones, 
My never-ceasing power owns. 

Ten thousand thousand years ago. 

Still was I fresh and voung', 
And bright new worlds, with fiery glow, 
That in their orbits swung. 

Obeyed me then, as still they do. 
In all the boundless field of blue. 

Each individual who exists — 

Yes, ev'ry living sesnate thing 
That in its kind on earth persists — 
Proclaims that I am king. 

I still produce, preserve, destroy. 
And fill the world with grief or joy; 

And e'en the tide in men's affairs, 

Well taken at the gate 
That bears them up Success's stairs, 
Where for them triumphs wait — 
All is the work of Circumstance. 
Whose law and scepter sways all chance. 

[26] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



POCAPELLA'S WARNING 



"Stay. Pocapella!" the agent cried. 

As he pointed to the high divide. 

"In the hills the murderous Blackfeet ride 

Who scorn all laws. 

They will steal your ponies and steal your squaws, 

As they have done with the braves who tried 

To hunt for game on the mountain side. 

Keep far away from the Blackfeet's claws." 

ut Pocapella. with eagle eye. 
Gazed far av/ay through Montana's sky 
To where the mountains towered high, 
And he said. ""I go 

To hunt in the hills, and I fear no foe: 
When my rifle speaks, the bear will die, 
And Blackfeet before me will fall or fly. 
And 111 pitch my tent where the pinunes grow." 

With squaws and ponies and sabre bright. 

And his rifle reflecting the morning light, 

Pocapella passed out of sight 

A splendid specimen of his race. 

With eagle feathers in his hair. 

And war paint on his coppery face 

He cared not for problems of wrong or right. 

And he scorned the Blackfeet and loved to fight, 

And there was no danger he would not dare. 

But. alas for Pocapella and all 
Who heed not warning voices that call 
When clouds of danger hang like a pall, 
That keener visions than theirs can see. 



[27] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



He pitched his tent where the pine trees grow, 
And he hunted on peaks that were clad with snow. 
But the Blackfeet were out on a jamboree, 
And they stole his squaws and ponies and all, 
And never again his squaws did he see. 

Pocapella stood all alone 

On a mountain peak on a granite stone, 

And he knew what grief there is to be known 

In this good old, bad old, world of ours. 

That for some has sunshine and song and flowers, 

While others' hopes are o^'^erthrown 

By the working of fate's mysterious powers; 

And he mused on friends and foes that had flown 

Over the hills to a place unknown. 

Footsore and weary, at last he came. 
He had neither squaws or ponies or game. 
He had never a word of praise or blame. 
"What did you ride home on?" the agent said. 
He spoke not, but pointed at the saber instead, 
And he called for a ration of bread and meat. 
He had gambled and lost, but he didn't feel beat. 
There were plenty of other squaws to wed. 
And ponies to steai from the wild Blackfeet. 



THE MASTERS Di^E/VM 



"Put up the sword," the master cried. 

He healed the wound the sword had made. 

The right to use it he denied. 

And for a peaceful world he prayed, 

[28] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Lo, peace on earth, good will to men — 
This was the Master's earnest thought. 

'Twill glorify his memory when 
All ravening tyrants are forgot. 

A tranquil world is what we need, 

But war still rages as of old. 
The Master's word men little heed, 

And draw the sword for power and gold. 

Sometime may dawn a golden age; 

Sometime the Master's dream come true, 
When men will learn to curb their rage. 

And all find useful work to do. 



SPRING 



Sand cranes are circling in the sky, 

And dragon-tongues are in bloom, 
And noisy herons are soaring high, 

Where there is plenty of room. 
We know the winter is laid to rest 

When the sand crane's cries we hear; 
When Orion marches down the West, 

With his great dog ever near. 

'Tis the time when resurrection has come 

To many a plant and flower, 
And old friends shout who had been dumb 

Through many a wintry hour. 
The orchards are dressed in white and pink, 

And the landscape is tinged with green, 

[29] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



And the sand cranes circle around, I think, 
Just to gaze once more on the scene. 

The blackbird choir, ten thousand strong, 

Are singing in the trees; 
Our souls are thrilled by their matchless song 

That floats away on the breeze. 
From out of the depths the wild geese call 

To their mates as they hurry by. 
And the answering honk of each and all 

Rings clear in the deep blue sky. 

There is a mantle of white on the old plum trees 

And the lilac is in bloom; 
From the sunny South every balmy breeze 

Is laden with perfume. 
We know that winter is laid to rest 

And rejoice that spring is here. 
When Orion marches down the West 

With his great dog ever near. 



YOU ARE DOGGONE TOOTIN' 



You are doggone tootin', 
This world is a bully place 

For a jolly, big-souled fellow 
With sunshine in his face. 

We feel his soul's contagion 

When we shake his friendly hand, 

And we'd rather hear his jolly jokes 
Than listen to a band. 

[30] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



The sunshine of his happy soul 

Dispels the gloom around, 
And you hear the people laughing 

Wherever he is found. 

It seems your cup of hapiness 

He always tries to fill, 
And when he lends a helping hand, 

He does it with good will. 

He never makes a harbor 

Of his mind for gloom and spite, 

And every one who knows him 
Will tell you he's all right. 

It's a pity such good fellows 

Should ever have to die. 
But wouldn't a heaven look lonesome 

Without him, by and by? 

You are doggone tootin' 

We'd like to meet him where 

There are no cranks and crookedness, 
Or grief or gloom or care. 



HAD A RIGHT TO 



The radiant sun was sinking. 
The day was almost done; 

It was a pleasant evening 
And a glorious golden sun. 

The fields and trees were verdant. 
The sky above serene; 

[31] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



The sinking sun that evening 
Shone brightly on the scene, 

And poured its peerless splendor 

On many a stately pine 
That towered above the path where 

I roved with lady mine. 

Twas hand in hand and happy 
We walked the pleasant way, 

And caught the inspiration 
Of that eventide in May. 

Her calm ey^s, full of splendor, 
Were members of her soul; 

Bright orbs where love and wisdom 
Showed passionate control. 

I queried if she loved me. 

She whispered in my ear 
The richest sweetest answer 

That mortal man can hear. 

I kissed her. Do not wonder 

At this incident of life? 
In fact, I had a right to. 

Because she was my wife. 



THE DOUBLE LIFE 



See you yon vulture soaring high? 
How smooth he sails through yonder sky; 
And, judging by his glorious flight. 
One well might think his life was right; 

[32] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



But when we see his pinions sink, 
And watch him dine amidst the stink, 
We envy not his glorious flight 
Amidst the azure fields of light. 
Alas for human frailty, we 
The vulture type too often see. 
Recording angel well might weep — 
They soar so high and sink so deep. 
Worse frailties in the human kind 
Than in the vultures we can find. 
Those whited sepulchres who lead 
A double life on carrion feed — 
How we would scorn them if we knew 
The worse than vulture deeds they do. 
From morn till night, from night till morn, 
The pure all vulture feasts will scorn, 
And in their flight for higher things 
Will fail not like the vultures' wings. 



THE BRIDGE OF ELSIRAT-MOHAMED'S BELIEF 



The young and the old and the weak and the strong 

To the bridge of Elsirat all journey along: 

The rich and the poor and the good and the bad. 

All who are happy and all who are sad. 

The proud and the humble all go the same way 

To the bridge of Elsirat, and no man can stay. 

The wise and the foolish come to it at last. 

Each bearing his record from out oi the past. 



[33] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



*Tis a wonderful structure that Allah has made, 
And the wicked to tread on this bridge are afraid. 
The bridge of Elsirat will hold up no sin, 
And the wicked fall through to a sulphurous den, 
Where, forever and ever, their torments increase. 
Without any hope of respite or release. 
While they who are sinless pass over secure 
To where Elysian pleasures forever endure. 
The commandments of Allah the foolish despise, 
But none may pass over his bridge but the wise. 



IF HE HAD HIS WAY 



A cloud of whiskers and tangled hair 

And garments in need of much repair, 

With old slouch hat and his ill-clad wife, 

And many children, he goes through life. 

He has no money to bale like hay. 

But I know he would if he had his way. 

If he had his way, he would be rich and grand; 

His mansion the finest in the land; 

Silk and satin his wife would wear, 

And diamonds would glow in her golden hair. 

He would have a yacht and a palace car. 

And in quest of pleasure would travel far. 

If he had his way, he would have fame. 

And men would never forget his name; 

The fountain of youth he would seek and find. 

And the ills of life he would leave behind. 

What shipwrecked hopes there may be found 

Under an old slouch hat as it moves around. 



[34] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



WESTWARD-BOUND 



Ten thousand voices mingle 

To swell the glad refrain. 
We are bound for western Kansas, 

For the tide has turned again. 
We are bound for western Kansas, 

Where the billowy wheat fields grow, 
For nature in her happiest mood 

Has gently whispered "Go!" 
But nature's moods are changeful, 

Just like the moods of men. 
She smiles on western Kansas 

And lures the grangers in. 
But the yellow wind from Texas, 

That rips the sunny plain 
And buries wheat fields out of sight. 
Drive people out again. 

But some of sterner nature 

Will hold the fort and stay. 
Despite the roasting winds that blast 

The corn fields in a day. 
By men of sternest metal 

All victories are won, 
Through fire or flood or field of blood 

Their watchword is "Press On!" 

I have watched the prairie schooners 

Sail slowly out of sight. 
Which bore some restless heroes, 

Brave as Lamancha's knight. 
And wondered what the future 

[35] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Of those pioneers would be 
Who raise their standard in the West 
And fight for victory. 



IN REDLANDS, CALIFORNIA 



In the beautiful city of Rediands 
A strange population there dwells. 

There are millionaires li^'ing in splendor 
And hobos who march with the bells I — 

Those lovers of freedom and leisure, 
The hobos who march with the bells. 

They come from all parts of creation, 

Lead on to this haven of rest; 
By some mystical strange inspiration 

That seizes their brain an*' their breast, 
And hurries them onward to Rediands. 

Their mecca, their hope in the West — 
Their dreamland, their haven, their rest. 

And when they are safe in its harbor. 
They cast all life's burdens aside; 

They sing, they dance and they charla;* 
On the crest of good fortune they ride. 

In the land of the big yellow orange 

Their fortune has reached its high tide-- 
On the sunny slope reached its high tide. 

But, like wandering comets, they vanish; 
Their sojourn soon comes to an end, 

[36] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



And you hear "Adiose combinaro!" t 

When to go somewhere else they intend; 

And they take up life's bells and its burdens, 
An^ hasten away with the wind — 
And their course, it will change with the wind. 

X Bells are tin cans. 

* Charla, Mexican for chat. 

t "Adiose combinaro," Good-bye, partner. 



A CHEERFUL LIAR 



Say, do you know Bill Braggart? 

Bill is a cheerful liar. 
He walked right up Vesuvius 

When it was belching fire. 
He dives in deadly whirlpools 

On the corner of the street. 
And he scales the fiery mountain 

Where the happy loafers meet. 

And while the sun is sinking, 

Slowly sinking in the west, 
The loafers gather 'round to hear 

His biggest and his best. 
He will beg a chew of tobacco. 

Then trouble will begin. 
He whipped a heavy-weight champion 

Before you could count ten. 

Or he'd fought a tribe of Indians, 

And put them all to flight; 
He had sneaked into the enemy's camp 

And spiked their guns at night. 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



He tells of winning victories, 

But never of defeat. 
He never lost a battle — 

On the corner of the street. 

He had crossed a raging river 

When it was ten miles wide. 
He rowed across it in a tub, 

Safe to the other side. 
'Twas one dark night he was scouting 

For the grizzly grenadiers; 
He paddled back in safety 

And received a round of cheers. 

From a cloud he saw the lightning dart 

Straight at a little child. 
Unconcious of the rushing bolt, 

The little fellow smiled. 
Bill quickly ran across the street, 

Just as a brave man should. 
And snatched the child to safety 

Ere the bolt struck where he'd stood. 

When he traveled with a circus, 

He said he had a knack 
Of turning double summersaults 

With an anvil on his back. 
He had won ten thousand dollars 

On a foot race, long ago. 
But a cyclone took his pocket book. 

And now his funds are low. 

He had smoked in a powder-mill, 
Though it was against the rules. 

He thought that powder-makers 
Were a timid lot of fools. 

[38] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



His cigar fell on the powder 

And burned a bushel or two, 
And before he tramped the fire out, 

His boots were burned clean through. 
When his wife comes charging down the street, 

With fire in her eyes, 
To retreat around the corner 

Bill always deems it wise. 
I think you know Billy Braggart. 

He is living in your town. 
He don't care when the sun gets up 

Or when the sun goes down. 



DON'T WORRY 



Let us not grieve at fortune's frown; 

Let us not waste our time with sighs. 
When the Western stars go down. 

Other stars will brightly rise. 

When affairs with us go wrong, 

What's the use to grieve and pine? 

Dark clouds seldom linger long. 

When they pass, the sun will shine. 

From the cradle to the grave 

There are trials, ups and downs. 

Life is a battle, where the brave 
Win the laurels and the crowns. 

There is work for each and all. 
Let us do it with a will. 

[39] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



From the heights strong voices call. 
Do not fear to climb the hill. 



On through trials to the stars. 

Doubt and worry cast aside. 
With the courage of a Mars, 

Forward to the battle ride. 



THE CONTEST 



The contest goes on as of ages of old 

For love and for glory, for pleasure and gold. 

The contest goes on, and hard battles are fought, 

And the victories often too dearly are bought. 

Strange dramas are played while the old planet spins, 

And the world still hurrahs for the fellow that wins. 

Of the fellow who loses the world will lose sight, 

Though he gave his best effort to win the good fight. 

Some capture the objects they earnestly chase, 

While other are left far behind in the race. 

Some follow a standard that is stainless and bright. 

And swerve not their course to the left or the right. 

They save their honor, will sacrifice all. 

And follow serenely where duty will call. 

All heroes are not found in battle's grim strife, 

But some quietly walk in the byways of life. 

To their fame and their glory no trumpet may sound, 

Yet they make the world better wherever they're found. 



[40] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



A BIG BLACK EYE 



Before you lie about him 

Or hit him in the face, 
Just think if you were standing 

In the other fellow's place, 
How you'd like to bear the burden 

Of your own disgusting lie. 
Or walk around the village 

With a big black eye. 

There is not much glory in it 

To be agile with your first. 
And you will fall from honor's standard 

When the honest truth you twist. 
There are so many twisters 

To make a fellow sigh. 
To know they are giving honest truth 

A big black eye. 

We like an honest, manly man 

Whose birthrights are unsold; 
Who scorns to sell his honor 

For ease or power or gold. 
This world needs legions like him — 

You know the reason why: 
They will give to shams and falsehood 

A big black eye. 



BACK TO HARRIS 



They hasten back to Harris 
[41] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



From regions east and west; 
Until they're found within its bounds, 
Their souls can never rest. 

They all come back to Harris 

From regions far and near. 
A happy lot that murmur not, 

You'll find them gathered here. 

They are wafted home by every breeze 

From fairest foreign lands. 
From sunny isles in Southern seas, 

From Klondike's golden sands. 

From where the stateliest palm groves rise. 

From mountains like jungfru, 
From regions with Italian skies, 

And flowery kingdoms, too. 

They dream about the good old town, 

The woods, the rippling rills. 
And where the golden sun goes down 

Beneath the Oread hills. 

They know that skies are brightest, 

That fields are greenest here; 
Time's footfalls here are lightest. 

And celestial joys are near. 

Kenoma's crystal waves are near, 

And whales are captured every spring. 

There Ryhard shines among his lines, 
And every care takes wing. 

The quiet, happy Harris life, 

It has more joys by far 
I am pleased to tell than ere befell 

A war lord or a czar. 

[42] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



A FABLE WITH A MORAL 



On Hog-eyed Johnston's melon patch 

The pale moon shone, 
When hungry Honydaz arrived, 

On foot and all alone. 

He slashed the ripest melon 

With his long, keen blade. 
It ripped before his gleaming steel 

As to himself he said: 
"I's gwine to eat this mountain sweet 

One mountain sweet alone." 
The fact to Hog-eyed Johntson 

It never will be known 

When he ate that mountain sweet. 

His good resolve had fled, 
And if he had a conscience then, 

Its still small voice was dead. 

His honesty was shipwrecked 

And cast upon the shore, 
And he wished he had a sack to hold 

A half a dozen more. 

He said "I's sholy got no sack. 

But this is what I'll do: 
I's gwine to use my oberalls 

And fill them with a few." 

It was no sooner said than done. 

The oberalls were filled. 
In melon-swiping trickery 

This Honydaz was skilled. 

[43] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



On Honydaz's tater patch 

There was a midnight raid, 
And Hog-eyed Johnston, he was there, 

Quite active with a spade. 

This haughty Southern gentleman 
Did high-grade morals lack. 

And 'twas a strange coincidence — 
He, too, forgot his sack. 

But he, like neighbor Honydaz, 

In shady deals was skilled. 
And his oberall with taters 

To their summit soon was filled. 

With the loot astride their shoulders, 

Each started for his home, 
But they had to cross the cronfield. 

Where the headless spook did roam. 

They were powerful superstitious 
'Bout the spirit of the dead, 

And each mistook the other 

For the spook who had no head. 

They tore the earth up in their flight — 

Each ran his level best, 
And left the only overalls 

That either one possessed. 

And when their fright subsided. 
It was some time nearly morn. 

Each found the other's overalls 
Lost in the field of corn. 

And hog-eyed Johnston said, says he, 
"Dem taters that I stole 

[44] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Have been dun changed to nielins 
By that spook— Lord bress my soul!" 

And Honydaz nigh fainted 

Beside his cabin door 
When he untied the oberalls 

And taters did outpour. 

Hog-eyed Johnson was short and fat, 

And Honydaz was tail, 
When they tried on the oberalls. 

It did their souls appal. 

In the oberalls were letters 

That shed a flood of light 
Upon the kind of husky spooks 

That hustled after night. 

They were amorous espistles 

From the belle of Murkeyville 
That told each of those suitors, 

"Sh'o, marry you I will." 

When Honydaz had dug one up, 

With bulging eyes he read: 
"Dear Hog-eyed Johnston, 

Light o' my life, de only man I'd wed." 

And Honydaz's countenance fell. 

And then his anger rose. 
When he pursued the letter through 

He found in Johnston's clothes. 

When Hog-eyed Johnston read one through. 

He rose into the air, 
His head went through his cabin roof 

And smashed the clabboards there 

[45] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



They met on the field of honor 

At sunrise on that morn, 
While searching for their overalls 

Lost in the field of corn. 

When Hog-eyed Johnston's charging cheer 

Rang over Murkeytown, 
The colored guard came mustering fast 

To put the riot down. 

And when the row was ended, 
And the doctor set their bones, 

They had paid for their dishonesty 
With blood and grief and groans. 

MORAL 

Oft retributive justice falls 

In unexpected ways 
And in unexpected places 

On the villians in life's plays. 



AN IRISH FAIRY TALE 



All the fairies of the island, 

With their gorgeous king and queen, 
Were at midnight gayly dancing 

In a circle on the green. 

Many a fairy knight in armour, 

Many a witching fairy lass, 
Gayly tripped the light fantastic 

In a circle on the grass. 

[46] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Thirteen, fifteen, fourteen 

Were the magic words they said, 
While their gaudy trappings glittered, 

And the moon shone overhead. 
And a proud man and a hunchback 

Gazed upon the mystic scene; 
Heard their mystic chant while dancing 

Gayly 'round their king and queen. 

Long they gazed at them in silence, 
But at last the hunchback said: 

"Thirteen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen," 
While the happy dancers sped. 

And a shout of approbation 

Rose from all that fairy throng, 

"Thirteen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen," 
Rang in accents loud and long. 

Then they took the little hunchback. 

And while fairy bands did play, 
With their painless knives and scissors, 

Cut his ugly hump away. 

And the proud man gazed in wonder, 

And unto himself said he: 
"If I'll add seventeen to the chorus, 

They'll do something grand for me." 

But no sooner had he said it 

Than a shout of anger rose: 
"Who has spoiled our incantation?" 

And they felled them with their blows. 

Quick they seized the proud offender, 
And they bound him to a rack, 

[47] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



And the hunchback's hump forever 
Firmly fixed upon his back. 

Now the moral to this story 
Is, Leave well enough alone, 

Or perchance we'll meet some evil 
That will make our spirits groan. 



MUSKOGEE RED'S HOROSCOPE: A DREAM 



I dreamed that I was dreaming 

Of astrologers of old 
Who read from out the book of fate 

And strange events foretold. 

They had spent many sleepless nights 

In watching overhead, 
A strange erratic comet 

With a tail of fiery red. 

They said, "We do prognosticate 
There will be a red-haired man. 

Who'll be a restless, roving sport, 
Somewhat like Jenghis' khan; 

"Somewhat like Alexander, 

Who drank too deep of wine." 

They cast his horoscope with care, 
And did the business fine. 

They said "We do prognosticate 
(Now, reader, do not scoff) 

He will stay a while to make a stake, 
And then he will hike off." 

[48] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



And while f gazed upon them, 

In unison they said, 
"The name he will be known by 

Will be Muskogee Red." 

The comet crossed a string of stars 

As crooked as could be. 
They said Muskogee Red would cross 

The crooked K,, N. & D. 

Past Aquarius, the comet, 

Rushed on with double speed; 

The astrologers at once sat up, 
And of this fact took heed. 

They said this indicated, 

And it was plain to see, 
Muskogee Red and water 

Would never well agree. 

In passing Mars, the comet moved 

So near and very slow. 
The astrologers said Muskogee Red 

Would never fear a foe. 

By Virgo next the comet rushed 
With more than lightning speed. 

That he would have no love affairs. 
On this they all agreed. 

The astrologers then vanished, 

And other scenes begun; 
I saw the real Muskogee Red 

March toward the setting sun. 

I followed him where landscapes rose; 
I followed where they fell; 

[49] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



I traced him o'er the mountain top; 
I chased him through the dell. 

Through village or through city street. 

Where'er his pathway led, 
I followed, and the cry arose, 

"There goes Muskogee Red!" 

Friends grasp Muskogee by the hand, 
And said, "Come stay a while," 

His contenance then wore a bland 
And radiant, heavenly smile. 

He said, with accent soft and low, 
"This desert is far too dry." 

He turned his prow toward the west, 
And bade them all good-bye. 

In spirit still I followed him 

Unto our western shore. 
He stood beside the Golden Gate, 

To hear old ocean roar. 

Somewhere on heathen Kearney street 
A Mongol with shaved head 

Cried, "Hoopela! Me have a time, 
Same as Muskogee Red!" 

From Golden Gate to Golden State, 
He turned him to the south. 

In a land of wine, you may divine. 
There was no cause for drouth. 

Through San Fernando tunnel 
He passed in darkest night. 

And marched upon Los Angeles 
And took the town all right. 

[50] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



Of all the sports I ever met, 
Some living now, some dead, 

I never met a gayer soul 
Than old Muskogee Red. 



CHOOSE A CLEAN FRIEND 



Vile, base boozing, 

And licentious, too — 
Is this the thing 

The Lord, God, made for you? 

Is this the choosing 

Of a Godlike mind? 
Can you no purer friendship 

Seek and find? 

A destroyer of virtue, 

Disgusting, low and base — 

Can a pure soul 

Such rottenness embrace? 

All they who tread 

The downward path of shame. 
Their records burn them 

Like a qunchless flame. 

On earth, vile outcasts, 
Their's the lowest place; 

Their sad lives spent 
In torture and disgrace. 

[51] 



POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 



The pure will seek 

For friendship pure and clean, 
And spurn the reprobate 

Low, base and mean. 

And heaven will bless 
Their efforts in the end 

To find their souls' desire -^ 
A noble friend. 



t52] 



POEMS BY JOHN FAY 



LIFE'S MARCH 



Marching, inarching, ceaseless marching, 
Marching early, marching late, 

To the river Leathe forever. 
At a sure and rapid rate. 

Hasting home the poor and friendless; 
Hasting home the rich and great 

Still omniverous time is watching; 

He will have us for his prey; 
He is whittling, whittling, whittling. 

With a steady hand each day, 
At the plank on which we're drifting, 

Till it's whittled all away. 

And it seems time, unrelenting, 
Glories in life's tempest rage. 

Loves to crush the brightest flower. 
Loves to soil the whitest page; 

Glories in the wreck of manhood. 
Glories in the fall of age. 



SHAKSPEARE 



Great king of thought, whose sway 

Extends o'er sea and land; 
Now wonderetli all men at thy intellectual ken; 

Earth seemed transparent in thy hand. 
Perhaps, unconscious of thy strength, 



[53] 



POEMS BY JOHN FAY 



Thy mind no glory sought, 
But with a giant's might, 

Thou hast fixed the ensign bright 
Beyond the outposts in the realm of thought. 

And generations yet to be 
Shall revel in those thoughts of thine, 

And ages shall roll past, 
And yet, thy fame shall last, 

And none shall come to write thy name 
Beyond thy line. 



DENVER 



I saw within a dried-up land, 
A desert at a mountain's base; 
A trackless, uninviting place. 

Swept by hot winds and shifting sand. 

The mountain rose from out the West. 
To meet a sky serene and clear — 
Rose in the thin blue atmosphere 

In massive strength, from base to crest. 

In after years I looked once more 

Upon the scene. The sun shone bright. 
And lo, a city flashed in sight 

Where all was weary waste before. 

A grand new city of the plain. 

And gardens bloomed and water ran, 
And there was food for beast and man. 

And victory for hand and brain. 

[54] 



POEMS BY JOHN FAY 



SPRING THOUGHTS 



Each year, the same old toil we meet, 

Neath the same old sun, with the same old flame. 
The same old earth is beneath our feet, 

But the faces of friends are not the same; 

No, not the same, for the happiest faces 
That beamed upon life's earliest spring, 

If not lying under the sod, show traces 
Of time or care or suffering's sting. 

But again, the birds around us are singing, 
And the blue is above and the green below; 

Again the flowers around us are springing, 
Even as they sprung in the long ago. 

And some shall bloom for the lowly and weak. 
And time-honored Hymen shall have his share. 

For the blushes that come to the bride's fair cheek 
Shall glow beneath the flowers in her hair. 

Then sow the seeds for the harvest treasure, 
And twine the garland while you may, 

For there cometh a time when human pleasure 
Shall end in the winter of cold decay. 



MY KANSAS HOME 



Some men may seek through long weary years. 

With and eager and anxious look. 
In every realm, Voth east and west. 



[55] 



POEMS BY JOHN FAY 



For some bright Arcadian nook; 
But as for me, you will never see 

Me pull up my stakes and roam 
From the trees that grow 
And the winds that blow 

Around my Kansas home. 

Some may fame and fortune find, 

In cities thronged and old, 
And some from out the rugged West 

Wrest shining heaps of gold. 
But as for me, no land or sea 
Will ever tempt me to roam. 
I will take smaller gains 
And the quiet that reigns 
Around my Kansas home. 

Some may praise the music and art 

Of some far-off foreign land, 
Wherever, in wide cathedral vaults, 

Swell rolling anthems grand. 
For me, there is a minstrelsy 

Not equalled 'neath Heavens dome. 
'Tis the birds that sing, 
In the joyous spring 
Around my Kansas home. 



RETROSPECTIVE 



When the clouds of life hang thick and black, 
My memory often surges back 
And bids unto my views arise 

[56] 



POEMS BY JOHN FAY 



Much sweeter scenes and brighter skies. 

Then memory, on its backward flow, 

Brings up the scenes of long ago. 

The cottage 'neath the wooded hill 

Where oft I heard the whippoorwill; 

The giant oak that threw its shade 

O'er the tufted grass on which I played; 

The maple grove, the distant hill 

That shut out the cold world's chill; 

The little streamlet's swollen flow, 

The melting of the drifted snow, 

And the thunder shower, when I was a boy, 

Each had its own peculiar joy. 

I have traveled many miles since then. 

And learned the wiles and ways of men. 

And yet, may travel in many a clime, 

And see strange sights and scenes sublime. 

But never again will come to me 

That happy boyhood's ecstacy, 

Or know again such sweet delights 

As when gazing on those rustic sights. 

The spring of life is replete with hope, 

And manhood comes with broader scope 

Of thoughts and feelings, temptation's pains, 

And endless worry for hearts and brains. 

As forward through life we journey on. 

Our early dreams fade one by one, 

And the deeper thoughts and the broader view 

Proved things were false we believed were true. 



[57] 



Lot 57 






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